Friday, March 23, 2012

The time indeed comes in life to select a mate. I might have used the word wife instead, but I did not, so I’ll leave it as it is written. Fortunes are won and squandered, battles fought and lost, but after the savagery ends we need someone to bury the body. I mean, we need loved ones to mourn our passing. I apologize if my thoughts are clouded, for I have not fed in weeks. I mean hours.

If someone asked me to list the qualities I deem essential in a mate, could I tell you in any sensible way? Is a mate necessary for existence? The answer is no. I can’t eat my mate more than once. How shall I survive?

A mate is intended to help us forget and tolerate the processed nature of the rest of our existence. Hopefully you enjoy scrabble. Or chess. Or twister. If not, I do believe we might be at an impasse. What shall we do with our time if we don’t agree on board game selections? Perhaps we can hold hands and watch the Olympics. Country first in my household.

As I ponder this momentous day, let me be clear and transparent with what I expect out of this bargain. Or pact. Whatever you will. You know me already, so we shall not waste time with all that boring nonsense. The important point is I can afford to make you love me, so if that is sufficient, please continue on with the story.

I do accept that the world moves on and changes as pertains to fashion, behaviors and the very aspects of procuring sustenance. However, things will be very much a throwback to the past in my home. Your home I might say. If you are still with me. If you are, I shall continue.

I expect every evening to contain culture. There will be a slice of Mozart, a side of the bard served with seared pork loin in a balsamic reduction. Grand Mariner on home-made vanilla bean ice cream, teaching you to play violin as I read you this:

SONNET 21

So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

There is a sonnet for you, my future love. Be a muse or simply be. As you like it, my love. (and does it matter that I play the fool and moan my love in a poor attempt to woo you with art)

Ask me why I don’t read you my own poetry and I shall smile. And continue to smile as I say, “My love, I am no William Shakespeare.”

I will tell you my passion is Kafka distilled with Kurt Cobain. However, do not attempt to listen to the one while reading the other. It will leave you with a sudden urge to throw yourself from the nearest bridge. Understand? Though I demand culture, I am aware you must be careful not to sit madmen in the same row.

I shall now tell you the terms I seek in this agreement. The woman shall agree to the following conditions:

1)There will be no watching of MTV in my (our) home. No knocked up teen or white trash shore is going to pollute the minds of my family.

Leaving further details only to those that make serious enquiries, I shall continue.

Ending my terminal bachelorhood is not to be taken lightly. I know it shall have repercussions in all aspects of my life, but it cannot be put off any longer. I mean, how can my life have meaning if I do not breed? I see now that sex is meant to procreate and I simply have been doing it all wrong up until this moment. I sincerely apologize for my wayward ways and I pledge to end this travesty in a short an order as possible.

The alternative is silly talk and useless faith in the existence of dragons. There is no magic. Just credit scores and your online presence and our global footprint glued together by the world wide web and some chewing gum. You don’t fight the tide or city hall, God always gets that pound of flesh. So, I shall kneel humbly and ask the world to produce a wife.

All interested applicants shall be sure to ready a checklist so as to ensure suitability for this contest.

Have you read at least ten plays by Shakespreare?

Have you read the complete works of F. Scott Fitzgerald?

What do you think are the five greatest novels of all time?

Compare and contrast Poe and Kafka. Feel free to go crazy during this exercise.

Which Russian is the greatest novelist ever, Tolstoy or Dostoevsky? Give at least two examples of the greatest of each writer.

I say that is enough for the moment. I am sure I have begun the path of this new journey in as transparent a way as possible. The basis of all is this: I mean to acquire a mate by the time the hour strikes Midnight to signal the arrival of my 40th birthday. The clock is ticking and I am sure there will be many applications for the position. Women that love to read and are schooled in music, art, history, philosophy and politics are very easy to find and I shall not have the least bit of trouble finding an adequate mate.

With any luck, when next we meet, I will have purchased or fed on found my mate. Enjoy your day even if you have other plans.